


So You Didn’t Grow Up To Be General MacArthur

by ProstheticLoVe



Series: We Take Care Of Each Other [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Established Relationship, I hate that I have to specify verbal fighting, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Ian wants to move, Ian's POV, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey and Ian verbally fight in in this one, Mickey doesn't, Post Season 10, Rated T for swearing, Relationship Discussions, There's no connection to season 11, discussions about moving, hints of new years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28178769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProstheticLoVe/pseuds/ProstheticLoVe
Summary: Ian wants to move out of the Gallagher house. Mickey doesn’t. A fight ensues.Or how Ian and Mickey finally settle on where they are going to live.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: We Take Care Of Each Other [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993684
Comments: 9
Kudos: 139





	So You Didn’t Grow Up To Be General MacArthur

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No one belongs to me! 
> 
> Author’s Note: Hello! This is the second one shot out of the three I'll be posting in this series. If you're interested in the timeline (cause you obsess about these things like me) it goes: Never Tear Us Apart (1-11), Sneaky Tricks and Snickers Treats, Lies My Parents Told, Never Tear Us Apart (12), It Was All In My Mind, and this fic. The last one shot will be set in the way future as a sort've epilogue. 
> 
> Anyway, this can be read as a stand alone fic or in the series. There are some references to Ian's bipolar, but you can read it without having read It Was All In My Mind. There's no relationship to season 11.
> 
> I want to thank everyone who has been reading this series! It's been a lot of fun. I'm glad people are enjoying it! I also got such great feedback and I really appreciate it. I know I started this to write about what COULD happen in season 11 as a way to wait out until the premier, but it's kinda taken on a life of its own. I didn't expect to write so much about domestic married gallavich lol. I want to thank AnnaNSmith for helping me bounce ideas off of her. Also, I was inspired to write this from this meta post: 
> 
> https://fiona-fififi.tumblr.com/post/632795139561209856/i-cant-stop-thinking-about-ian-and-mickey-and
> 
> Enjoy!

“What the fuck are you doing, Gallagher?” 

Ian looked up from the list he was writing on the legal pad he’d discovered in one of the messy drawers in their dresser. He’d started it a few weeks ago - before his recent low episode - when he had once again begun to nag Mickey about moving out of the Gallagher house and into an apartment of their own.

(He’d been imagining them moving into a little two bedroom apartment for awhile now. Maybe get a pet. Take walks around their neighborhood and become friends with their neighbors. It was a daydream that had replaced the one of them getting married since they were now _actually_ married and he could check that off the list.)

It had been something he’d been nagging him about for awhile now.

Like since their anniversary.

It was now almost spring.

But like how he ignored Mickey’s tendency to flip out at the drop of a hat, his husband had gotten really good at tuning out Ian’s nagging.

Most of the time.

He’d decided to try a different tactic when Mickey just started grunting every time he brought up moving.

He’d discovered dropping hints - heavy hints - as a way to try to get the conversation rolling. But when that didn’t work, he casually brought up the topic of moving with finesse. After that was met with defeat, he relinquished large boulder-like signals that resembled bombs dropping.

_“Hey, wouldn’t that be a nice place to live?”_

_“If we had our own house, we could walk around naked and fuck everywhere.”_

_“Living closer to work could shave a good 20 minutes out of the commute.”_

Ian tilted his head up to look up at him and Mickey grinned. Leaning down to kiss him, Ian smiled into it, loving the casual way Mickey rested his hands on his face to angle him just right. He could feel the hardness of his ring rubbing against his cheek. He smiled wider at the sensation. Breathing in a freshly-showered Mickey, reluctantly, he broke away.

He wasn’t going to get distracted this time.

He had a plan.

“Making a list.”

Mickey cocked an eyebrow at him and read over his shoulder to see what he’d written down. Ian tried not to look at Mickey as he read it. Instead, he tapped the end of the pen on the table and waited for him to begin bitching about some of his choices.

(He knew it was a stretch moving to Wicker Park, but he always really liked the apartments over there.)

“The fuck you write this shit down for?”

Ian looked back down at the carefully written out neighborhoods and some of the information he’d gathered on Craigslist. 

_Mckinley Park - $1,200._

_Homan Square - $1,100._

_South Loop - $1,400._

_Wicker Park - $1,700_

“I was just - these are some places we could move to. You know, when we get our own place. They’re all two bedrooms,” Ian said, forcing nonchalance into his tone.

He could feel Mickey’s eyes drilling into him and with trepidation, he looked up.

Every time Ian tried to have this conversation, it didn’t go accordingly. Initially, he’d brought it up all the way back when the idea planted itself before their first anniversary. 

His brain conjured images of what it would be like living with Mickey completely alone. No wives, no siblings, no prison guards. 

Just them. 

But so far they continued to hit roadblocks. 

He was working less hours than he wanted and Mickey was working part time. (Not to mention, he was finally getting back on track after his first low period in a long time.) 

They were still working dead-end jobs. 

None of the goals Ian had wanted them to accomplish, especially since New Years, had panned out. They were nowhere _near_ having a discussion about moving out.

They’d taken a few steps forward and then took just as many back.

Ian thought they were on the same page that day when he’d initially brought it up. But slowly as time passed, Mickey seemed to almost change his mind. At least that was the vibe Ian got every time he brought it up.

(But to be fair, they hadn’t actually sat down and talked about it. Not in the way Ian wanted at least.)

Like he realized that if it was just the two of them something terrible would happen. Like Mickey didn’t think they could handle living so far from his family. It would be the first time ever in their relationship that it would be Ian and Mickey out on their own. They wouldn’t have other people getting in the way or living with them to talk some sense when they were too busy acting and being idiots. 

But Ian thought about those days they had headed down to Mexico together. When he was supposed to be coming up with a plan and figuring out how he was going to go on the run when he needed three different kinds of medicine twice a day. He’d been happy. Just being with Mickey. And he expected that would be the same case when they moved in together across town.

Just the two of them.

When Ian first brought it up, Mickey had mentioned wanting to wait till they had money - which, okay was understandable. Then there was Liam - were they really going to pluck him out of school and bring him with them? Not to mention Debs always leaving Franny with them. Ian thought that this was going to be the year where they had the chance to strike out on their own, but it wasn’t as fortuitous as they’d planned, so they put it off. 

It was just one of those things they continued to delay and every time Ian had brought it up, Mickey had another excuse not to do it.

Or he avoided the topic all together.

Eventually, he figured that maybe he wasn’t being obvious enough with what he wanted. This was Mickey after all. He had to practically dangle another guy - well, maybe not _practically_ . He _did_ dangle another guy in front of Mickey to get him to kiss him. Maybe he was just going about this the wrong way.

Finally, he decided that if the hints weren’t working, he’d sit Mickey down to talk about moving. Like adults or whatever.

_“What do you think about moving?”_

_“Moving?”_

_“Yeah, I know we talked about it before but...it’s been almost a year and we still aren’t in our own place.”_

Mickey had smiled at him, made a joke, and they were off on another topic of conversation before Ian knew what hit him.

His plan was derailed.

But this time, Ian wanted to make a list - some goals for them to focus on in their next year of marriage. This time he was going to force Mickey to have this conversation or at least get the ball rolling to start to look for places.

They were supposed to go apartment hunting before his low episode, but then that all went to shit thanks to his brain. They’d tried to reschedule with the landlords, but the apartments they wanted - well, that Ian wanted - had all been scooped up.

“Places to move to?” Mickey asked.

Ian tapped the point of the pen on the legal pad and cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” he paused. “What do you think?”

He hated that there was an edginess in his voice. He hated that he wasn’t sure where Mickey stood on this. But most of all, he hated the idea that they might not see eye-to-eye on the situation. It would be a first when they’d always been on the same level. Usually, just by looking at Mickey, Ian understood his decisions and his choices. He’d always gotten what made Mickey tick. He could read his tells. But this time, his face was unreadable.

Mickey opened his mouth and then closed it with an audible snap. Ian waited for him to say something, but instead, he stole Ian’s beer and took a long sip.

“What do you think?” Ian asked again when Mickey didn’t say anything.

“I think...that you need to call your doctor about how fucking nauseous you’ve been lately. And you should stop at CVS today to pick up your meds. You know you’re almost out.”

Ian blinked in surprise at Mickey and then looked down at the list in front of him. He wasn’t sure what to say. 

Weren’t they just having a conversation about moving not his meds? Was Mickey about to start bitching about this again? He hadn’t even gotten a call from the pharmacy telling him they were in. 

_What the fuck?_

“What? No I’m not. I have like a week left,” Ian finally settled on.

“What about your doctor? You barely ate dinner last night cause your stomach was all fucked up. Don’t be a bitch about it, just call the doctor. And go to CVS today. I made _a list for you_. We need more toilet paper and toothpaste.”

Ian opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned, “fine, whatever. What do you think about moving?”

“We can talk about it later. Go get your meds and shit.”

“Mick--”

“I gotta go, Gallagher.

“Don’t you want to see--”

“No thanks,” Mickey said standing up suddenly. “I’m going out with Sandy and Iggy,” 

Ian frowned, “but I thought we could--”

“I’ll be back later, Gallagher. Don’t forget to call the doctor.”

Ian frowned as he watched him get up, grab his coat, quickly kiss him on the lips, and leave through the kitchen door. All within seconds. Like he was in a rush to get out of the conversation. Away from him. He stared at the door in amazement. 

Slowly, his gaze went back down to his list and then he sighed. Reluctantly, he picked up his cell and did as Mickey asked. He called the doctor to report back about the side effects of the meds they’d put him on. But even as he got ready to head to CVS - he needed more deodorant anyway - he kept replaying the weirdness in the kitchen.

_Did I do something wrong?_

_What just happened?_

* * *

When Ian was 10, he decided that he was going to write down a list of five things he wanted to accomplish in his life. 

_Graduate high school._

(A GED definitely counted.)

_Don’t turn into Frank_

(Did not being Frank’s son count?)

_Don’t turn into Monica._

(The jury was still out on this one.)

_Do 100 pushups in a row._

(By 12, he finally got there. And by 23, he finally got back there.)

_Get away from Chicago._

(He never quite made it, but that’s okay. A road trip to Mexico was the next best thing.)

Of course, over time his interests and goals changed. Every year he updated his list to include other things like joining the army (what a shit show that was) and becoming an EMT (it still stung to know how he fucked that, even if he was slowly gaining back the trust of his colleagues. It would never be like how it was before). 

Now, as they reached the beginnings of spring, Ian was re-evaluating. Things so far were not going according to plan. Sure, they were solid. But the carefully laid out plans Ian had for them fell by the wayside. So he began to brainstorm. 

What did he want to change? 

What did he want to continue doing? 

What could he do better? 

What could he leave behind? 

What could he and Mickey do better?

Ian wanted to focus on what this year together would look like for them. He was always coming up with ways he could better himself, but he really wanted to include Mickey in this too. 

They needed to start thinking about their future. 

One where they had shared bank accounts (with more than $500), a larger bedroom (and not his childhood room. Maybe one with an attached bathroom), a place to decorate (he really liked the idea of picking out furniture and paint colors together), and kids/pets (they hadn’t really figured any of that out). He wanted them to start thinking about what their future would look like.

Like by 30 they’d already have a kid or two…

He liked having goals. 

He liked having something to work toward.

He’d decided after him and Mickey got married that they’d get on the usual trajectory for couples.

Marriage.

Moving.

Kids.

That was the plan at least.

So far things were not going well.

Ian knew they’d meet a lot more speed bumps in their first few years of marriage. Neither of them knew what they were doing. And they definitely didn’t have any role models to learn from. He’d heard horror stories from other couples about how they had the worst few years of marriage. He’d worried that maybe Mickey would wonder what the fuck he signed on for or they’d have some mysterious bullshit situation pop up and wreck havoc in their marriage.

But as their first year of marriage turned into a second, he realized that their marriage was actually pretty tame compared to their past years together.

Prison sentences were left behind.

Ian’s mental health was relatively stable (minus the thing that happened a few weeks ago, but it wasn’t as bad as past episodes.)

And the holidays actually weren’t bad.

In fact, Ian didn’t have a lot to complain about.

Sure they had their fights.

A lot of bickering.

Some awkward run-ins with exes and other undesirables.

But he was happy.

Like really happy.

It was fucking weird.

But more importantly, he knew Mickey was happy too.

Ian had been nervous, but even after a few hours of being married to Mickey, he wasn’t sure what he’d been so anxious about. 

This was _Mickey_.

The guy he’d loved since he was like 15.

Which mean he knew him pretty fucking well.

He figured that Mickey would want to get as far away from this house as possible. There were a lot of bad memories in it. Memories that Ian had thought would make Mickey feel uncomfortable.

But now that this was the first time he’d brought up moving since he finally balanced out on his meds, Mickey seemed to be even more desperate to avoid having the conversation of what comes next for them. 

They’d talked about it before. 

Sort’ve.

Not really, if he was being totally honest.

He’d _attempted_ to have the conversation. 

Now that he was finally starting to feel like himself again, he wanted to get back on track.

In the past, he always felt like after every low period he was sucked down this black hole of despair and emptiness. He didn’t want that this time. He wanted to pick himself back up and focus on a goal. Every therapist and psychiatrist he’d had to talk to always told him he needed to have a goal.

He wanted to focus on something he could easily control.

Moving out was something he could control. 

Mostly.

The thing was Ian didn’t want to come down the stairs and head into a kitchen where he had nearly killed Debbie. Or stand in a living room when he was ripped away from Mickey and taken away by the army. He didn’t want to be reminded as he made breakfast that his mother tried to slit her wrists on Thanksgiving. Or be haunted by any of the times when Frank hit him. Then there was the porch where he’d broken up with Mickey…

That was a whole other memory he wouldn’t mind tucking away forever.

Not to mention, the entire neighborhood was just one long walk down memory lane. Every time he passed the Milkovich house, he worried about running into Terry. He was tired of living in a place that held so many bad memories. 

The house, the neighborhood, they were all filled with memories he’d rather forget. Places where Mickey got shot. Places where Ian was spiraling as he fell head first into his disease. Places that they’d hurt each other.

He wanted to explore something new. He wanted to explore that something new with Mickey.

One of the exciting things when they were headed down to Mexico were all the doors of opportunity and new memories they were going to create together. Even months after he’d left Mickey at the border, he dreamed of the possibilities of what a new life together could hold. He imagined them in their own little house. Some paintings on the wall - maybe some drawings that Mickey did. Ian had a little bookshelf in the corner of their living room. They had stacks of movies and videogames that they never were able to afford as a kid. 

They had a fucking giant-ass bed. With sheets that were silky and smooth and warm in the winter. They had kitchen appliances that weren’t 100 years old or falling apart or fucking dirty all the time.

Not to mention the fact they didn’t have to share anything with anyone else. They could 

walk around naked if they wanted to. (But probably not since Liam would be with them. Ian figured that’s where sleepovers came in.) There were no more lines to wait for the bathroom. No unexpected Frank visits. 

It was just them.

Well, them and probably Liam since they couldn’t leave the kid with Debbie who was never around or Carl who was focused on his own career. But Liam was an easy kid and could adapt to anything.

Ian imagined once they moved into their house they’d get an animal.

A guide to help them get ready for a kid or two in the next few years.

And the best part was when they actually moved out and got a place of their own, it would mean there was no going back. 

It was a dream that Ian had, had for a long time.

Longer than prison.

Longer than Mexico.

Longer even than his diagnosis.

It was something he wanted and he wanted that future with Mickey.

And yet, Mickey didn’t seem like he wanted it with him.

* * *

“What do you want this year to look like?” Ian asked over breakfast a few days later.

He’d dug out the legal pad and his journal that he’d been trying to write in more. (His personal New Year’s Resolution.) He’d written down his five New Years Resolution back in December and wanted to revisit them.

_Move out of the house_

_Talk about kids with Mick_

_Get back to working 40 hours_

_Work back up to running a seven minute mile_

_Perfect that trick that Mickey likes_

At the time, he thought it was a good list. But now a few months into the new year none of it had been accomplished. And the very top goal he had for the year was the one he wanted the most. (Although, he did really want to perfect that trick for Mickey because _fucking wow._ )

He’d brought out his New Years Resolutions and the list of neighborhoods he’d made the other day as a way to start - and stay focused on - a conversation.

Since Mickey continued to avoid having a conversation with him about moving out, he decided to do all the leg work and then rope him in at the end. Which basically meant he was secretly calling around to the landlords on his list. 

He figured that waiting to surprise Mickey with all of the choices they could look at was the best option. Not that he was keeping anything from him. It was just...easier this way. Present Mickey with his favorites and then they could decide together. 

He wondered if he was being difficult because he didn’t want to do any research for places to live. 

Yeah, that had to be it…

_Right?_

As Ian looked though, he found it difficult to find a landlord that would rent to two ex-cons. It was shaping up to be more of a struggle to apartment hunt than he thought.

“What?” Mickey asked. He was busy eating his bacon and drinking the coffee Ian had made for him. 

“Did you do New Year’s Resolutions?” Ian asked.

Mickey finally looked up from where he’d been doodling on a notebook Ian had gotten him for Christmas.

“What?” Mickey asked again. A crease appeared between his eyebrows signaling his confusion.

“What are your New Year’s Resolutions?” Ian repeated trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone at the fact his husband wasn’t paying him any attention.

Mickey smirked, “you’re a fucking nerd.”

Ian ignored him and began to speak, “I was thinking that maybe we could come up with a goal for this year to do together. Like--”

“A goal?” Mickey asked incredulously.

“Yeah, like maybe getting a pet or fixing up some of the holes in the wall. Maybe, I don’t know, moving...out of...here.”

The crease between Mickey’s eyes deepened.

Ian took a large gulp of his coffee and waited to see what Mickey was going to say.

Mickey dropped his piece of bacon and the pencil he’d been doodling with onto the 

table. He sat back in his chair and raised his eyebrows.

“First, why the fuck do we keep having this conversation? Second, it’s like March, man, why the fuck are you talking about New Year’s Resolutions? Don’t most people give them up by now?”

“We haven’t really talked about it. Moving I mean. Not the resolutions. Although, I guess we haven’t talked about that either...”

Mickey sighed and picked up his piece of bacon to stuff in his mouth. Ian waited to see if he was going to say anything, but when he didn’t, he decided to begin.

“I finished a list of places we could move to.”

“Yeah, you showed me the list.”

“So what do you think?”

“Shouldn’t we wait on the moving shit until--”

“I’m better. My meds are--”

“Yeah, but I think until we know for sure. You called the doctor right? I know you said--”

“I’m _fine_ , Mick. I want to do this. And stop fucking worrying.”

Mickey was silent for a minute and then in a huffy little voice said, “I’m not fucking _worrying_ , dick. Why would I worry about you? Not a fucking bitch.”

Ian wanted to smile, but the way Mickey was biting on his lip made him pause. He waited for Mickey to say something else crass, but nothing came. Instead, his husband continued to watch him. 

Ian was under the impression that he was trying to read him, so he tried to keep his expression as open as humanly possible to ensure that Mickey felt comfortable. When Mickey continued to try to read him, he reached a hand across the table and rested it on top of Mickey’s wrist. Caressing the skin, he gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’m fine, Mick,” he repeated.

Mickey suddenly frowned and moved his hand away from Ian to pick back up another piece of his bacon.

“Do we have to talk about this right now? Can’t we talk about something more, like, relevant? Like the fact you’re still not feeling great?”

“I just said I was fine. And yes, I think we should talk about it now. I think we need a plan.”

“The fuck Gallagher? What do I look like that fuckin' chick from that cop show you like?”

“I think it could be a good idea to come up with some goals that we want to accomplish in the upcoming year. That’s how I got to be an EMT. I recognized what I wanted and went after it.”

Mickey shifted uncomfortably in his chair and narrowed his eyes at him. “If you’re expecting me to come up with a fuckin’ five year plan or some dumbass goals, you married the wrong man.”

Ian frowned and reached out for Mickey. This time he clasped his hand in his. He watched as Mickey relaxed slightly at the touch and Ian looked down at their entangled hands. Their wedding rings were brightly shining in the early morning light of the kitchen.

“I’m not trying to pressure you to make goals, but _I_ need goals. I just thought it would be something fun to do together.”

Ian watched as Mickey’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he decided to go on.

“Figured moving or getting a pet or something would be small compared to what - what we want our future to look like.”

Mickey’s eyebrows raised. “What _we_ want our future to look like? Ian, I’m just trying to get through right now.”

“Getting our own place would be good for us, Mick.”

Mickey let out a frustrated sound and itched his eyebrow. “Why? What’s so good about moving to some shitty apartment in a neighborhood we don’t know? What’s the fucking hurry? What about your siblings? Also, we pay like nothing in rent here. Why do you wanna throw money away?”

Ian sighed and tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Aren’t you tired of living here? Aren’t you sick of my family? Don’t you want to live in a place - in a place where there’s not so many fucking memories?”

“No! I like living here. It’s cheap. It’s clean-ish. We pay nothing in rent. What’s the fucking rush?”  
“There’s no rush, I’m just trying to come up with a plan--”

“Why? Why do we need a plan? Is this like a bipolar thing?”

Ian glared at him, “It’s a _me_ thing. I like plans and goals. I like to know what I’m working toward.”

“You don’t think I know that about you? But can’t we just - I don’t know, live in the moment for now? It just seems dumb as fuck to move out when we’ve got so much other shit going on.”

“What other shit?”

“You! You just had a low episode. Isn’t moving like stressful and shit? Shouldn’t we take it easy until your meds are 100% balanced? I mean - It was... I think it’s better if we stay somewhere familiar.”

“I am okay! Why do you keep bringing it up? I’m fucking _fine_ , Mick.”

“I know that! But I just--”

“Why don’t you really want to move?” Ian snapped.

“I never said that,” Mickey grumbled.

Ian stared at him and Mickey focused on the windows over Ian’s shoulder.

“Mick.”

“What?”

Ian opened his mouth, paused, and then sat back in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Do you want to live here forever?”

Mickey avoided his gaze and Ian felt his stomach drop. 

“Or is this like a I-don’t-want-to-plan-anything-cause-I-hate-planing thing?”

Mickey huffed. His eyes flickered toward Ian and then away. 

The buzz of the refrigerator sounded a lot louder than it should in the kitchen. For once, Ian wished that someone would come barreling through the door and interrupt their conversation.

He could usually read Mickey so clearly, but right now he had no idea what was going on with him. He’s trying to talk about moving and Mickey wants to discuss his recent lapse in mental health. He was fucking fine, why couldn’t Mickey see that?

Maybe the fact he couldn’t read him was exactly Ian being able to understand the situation. Mickey couldn’t meet his eyes. He was trying to escape talking about it. He kept changing the subject. It was avoidance behavior. Was he trying to use Ian’s low period as another excuse not to move? Or were those two things tied together? Did Mickey not want to talk about it because he didn’t want the same things as Ian? The realization that they wanted different things squirmed uncomfortably in his stomach.

“I just don’t get the big deal with why you want to move out so soon,” Mickey said finally.

“So soon?”

“Yeah it hasn’t been that long.”

“Mickey, we just celebrated our one year anniversary.”

“Yeah and what’s a year in our entire relationship? We’ve had years together before and there’s always been something that - what’s the use of making plans when tomorrow could just fuck them all up?”

Ian stared at him awestruck for a moment. “Do you really--”

“Look, if you wanna make some dumbass goals, then fine whatever. I’m not going to stop you. But don’t include me in it,” Mickey got up and brought his plate and coffee mug to the sink. 

Ian followed after him. “I just thought it would be something we could do together. It doesn’t have to be big or--”

“Ian, listen to yourself. You want to make goals _together_. You know I don’t do that shit. 

Do I look like I have a secret fucking list of goals I want to complete? Do I look like someone who makes a fucking list?”

“Mickey,” Ian said as his husband began to leave the room.

He turned around and raised his eyebrows. Ian watched as his teeth ran against his lip and began to anxiously chew on it.

“We’ve never had time to make plans before. Now we do, so--”

“So what? You think this nice little break is going to last? Some other shit--”

“What other shit? We’re _married_ . We’re _legally_ fucking married.”

Mickey frowned. “You don’t think I fucking know that? Being married isn’t the issue though. What happens when you’re low again?”

“What about it?”

“What happens if I need to work and someone needs to watch you but we live alone? What happens when you’re depressed again or fucking manic? You’re not stable all the time, Ian.”

Ian blinked slowly at what Mickey just said. All he could focus on was those three words.

_You’re not stable._

_You’re not stable._

_You’re not stable._

Did he really mean that?

“I’m sorry I didn’t--”

Ian ignored him even though his ears were ringing at those three words. 

“I want to move. I want _us_ to move.”

Mickey gave him almost a sad look.

“Well, I don’t.”

Ian watched as Mickey continued to leave the kitchen, but this time he didn’t go after him.

* * *

All day Ian waited for Mickey to come home. He figured that after walking around the block or going to the Alibi, he’d come home and they’d worked it out. 

He’d only sent no less than four text messages trying to get him to come back.

Now, here he was sitting at the kitchen table like a distressed housewife with a cold plate of dinner on the table. The others were out doing whatever it was they did on Saturday nights, which meant the house was empty. 

He just wanted to know where his husband was.

After Mickey had stormed out, Ian tried to keep busy babysitting the kids. But as each hour ticked by and it got later and later with still no word from Mickey, Ian began to get a little panicky.

(Maybe a lot if he added up the four text messages plus three phone calls.)

Finally, around five, Mickey texted him back.

_Not dead._

That was it.

And Ian hadn’t heard from him ever since.

Now as 11pm approached, he looked sadly at the plate of dinner he’d made up for him and begrudgingly stuck it in the fridge.

He’d made dinner for the kids, tucked Franny in, and helped Liam with his homework. Carl had stopped by for a short while and they’d watched TV. Ian had even cleaned the kitchen.

And still no Mickey.

Ian continued to wait by the kitchen door with a perfect view of the front door, so he’d know exactly when Mickey got home.

He stared down at his phone and went to the text messages from him to see if he missed anything. 

_Nope. Nothing._

Taking one last look around the house, he locked up, and then headed toward their bedroom. Each step up the stairs and down the hall was heavier than the one before. He even stopped in the hallway and considered going back downstairs to watch TV and wait up for another hour.

Once he got into their room, he stripped off his shirt and prepared to head toward the bathroom. But as he opened the bedroom door, he decided to settle on an old habit of doing a hundred sit-ups and push-ups before bed. It wasn’t something he’d done in awhile, but it was a good way to get rid of the excess energy he was feeling. 

(He’d started doing it again in prison when he was left feeling restless at the end of the day.)

Now, he generally tried to exercise in the morning. But when he knew all he’d be doing is laying in bed and staring at the ceiling listening for the faintest sound of the door opening downstairs, it was the better option.

It was on number 50 when he finally heard the door open downstairs and it took everything within him to not get up to check to see who it was. When he heard heavy boots against the stairs, he faltered at the top of the 55th sit-up. 

And when the door finally opened to the bedroom, he completely stopped.

Mickey looked down at him and then his gaze flickered toward the bed.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Baking a fucking cake. What does it look like?” Ian snapped with more malice than he meant to.

Mickey raised an eyebrow at him and then moved around him to their messy dresser. He dumped out his pockets with his wallet, phone, and keys. The gun he carried more as a habit was placed back in their dresser, tucked away like usual. Ian watched him for exactly 30 seconds before he began to nag him.

“Where the fuck have you--”

“I was with Sandy at the Alibi.”

Ian tried to catch his eyes, but he was focused on completing his nightly routine.

“All day?”

“Not all day…” Mickey was busy taking off his shirt and pants. He was avoiding Ian’s eyes.

“I didn’t mean--”

“I’m sorry--”

Mickey finally turned around to face him. 

“So we really need to do this now?”

He could drop it. It would be easy. He could tell looking at Mickey with his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows arched in that very specific way that clued Ian in to how little patience he had at the current moment that he could just pretend everything was fine. But he didn’t want to drop it. They’d put so many things on the back burner because they didn’t want to work through them. Ian didn’t want this to be something else they needed to talk about but just didn’t because they were - they were too afraid.

“I want us to build a future together. That’s all,” Ian blurted out.

“So we’re doing this, huh?” Mickey asked, dropping down to the mattress and resting his elbows on his knees.

“You’ve been gone all day without a word--”

“I told you I wasn’t dead.”

“Mick, come on.”

Ian tried to hold his gaze, but Mickey’s eyes darted over to the bed, the wall, the dresser that was overflowing with random shit, basically anywhere but at him.

Ian half expected him to open his mouth and either tell him off again and start an argument or have a level headed discussion.

Instead, he said, “I think it’s too soon to move out. I was just - I thought that’s what you wanted, so I...I wanted to make you happy. I’m sorry if I - if I...” 

Even from the floor, Ian could hear the audible swallow as he choked down his words.

Ian frowned, “I want to build a life with you. One that we both want.”

Mickey was staring down at the floor, so Ian got off the floor to join him. They sat beside each other both waiting for the other to speak. The silence was heavy in their bedroom. Crackling with all the things they wanted to say but weren’t sure how to. It hung heavy between them the way it always did when they both knew they needed to take that extra tiny step forward to make sure their relationship could work.

Finally, Ian said, “Why don’t you want to move?”

Mickey shrugged, “do I need a reason?”

Ian turned to him. He angled his body so his knees brushed against Mickey’s and he reached over to rest a hand on his thigh. As a reminder that he was here, that he didn’t have to be afraid to say what he wanted. That neither of them were leaving because of one small bump after getting past mountains in their past. 

“Where were you all day?”

Mickey made an annoyed sound and scrubbed a hand across his face. Ian thought he was going to push his hand off his thigh, but he noticed he shifted the tiniest bit closer.

“I just want to--”

“I went to go see one of those stupid apartments you want to move into. Fucking shithole. And it’s expensive. You’re so bent on moving out of here but I don’t get _why_. If we fix the house up, I bet it would look better. Patch up the holes, replace the furniture, maybe paint some shit, like Lip did, it’ll look - it’ll be like a new house.”

Ian frowned, “but it’s not ours.”

Mickey laughed darkly and shook his head. “Yeah, _it is_ . It might not have our name on it or whatever, but it is _ours_ . This is where we - we lived here first _together_. Before we moved into my old house. It’s where we dealt with your diagnosis. It’s where I came back to to be with you after prison. It’s - it’s where we’ve fought to be together.”

Ian wasn’t sure what to say to that. So he looked down at his hands in his lap and twisted his wedding ring for lack of anything better to do. Mickey’s initials peeked out of the wedding ring and a swooping sensation occurred in his stomach at the glimpse of them. The way it did when he saw his name tattooed on Mickey’s chest.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier. You are stable just...I like being somewhere that’s familiar. I like being _here_ , especially when - when you get like that. It can be…I like knowing your fucking brother is close if I need help when I don’t know - when I don’t know what to do. It…” Mickey trailed off.

Ian looked down at Mickey’s lap and saw that he was absentmindedly rubbing his palms on his jeans. Like they were sweaty. Like he was nervous to be admitting this. 

Which Ian understood. 

He knew how scary it could be to see someone - well, he knew how fucked up it could get. He got that Mickey needed other people to rely on when he was depressed or manic. But he was better. And the last time wasn’t as bad.

_Right?_

“Does it scare you?” Ian blurted out.

Mickey turned to look at him finally and gave him a little shrug. “It’s not my...I can handle it if that’s what you mean. But sometimes - I don’t know - I don’t want it to be like before.”

“I’m sorry,” Ian said quietly. “I know I can be difficult--”

“It’s not that. I - fuck, sometimes I - this last time it wasn’t bad. But what happens if it’s different next time? I like having your siblings close by to help. I know we’d only be moving a couple of neighborhoods over, but I - fuck, I sound like a bitch. But I…”

“Worry?”

Mickey rolled his eyes and gave an almost imperceptible nod. 

“It’s okay. I worry about you all the time.”

Mickey snorted and kept his eyes focused ahead rather than on Ian.

“Don’t need to,” he finally muttered.

Ian laughed softly, “I think worrying is just part of - of being married.” He took a deep breath and squeezed Mickey’s thigh. “I’m sorry. I’ll - I’ll be better about calling the doctor and picking up my meds and all the other stuff.”

“I’m not--”

“But it would be nice if you wouldn’t disappear all day without a word.”

Mickey turned to look at him. His mouth already open to comment on Ian’s nagging, but instead, he shut it and nodded slowly.

“Deal.”

Ian leaned forward and kissed him sealing their agreement. He kept it short and sweet because they weren’t completely done. “You feel that strongly about not moving?”

Mickey looked at him in surprise, “yeah.”

“What about our future?”

Mickey gave him a sad smile. “What about it? I like where we are now. I’ve got everything I want. It’s you that wants more.”

Ian felt his heart sink at the words.

“You really want to stay here?”

“I like it here,” Mickey said simply. “Fuckin’ told you that.”

“And you want to raise kids here?”

“I mean like eventually. Not right now, but...it’s not a bad place to grow up.”

Ian opened his mouth, but Mickey beat him to it.

“I’m not saying everything about this house is perfect. But I think if we - if we maybe do some remodeling. We could - we could fix it up together. Like I said, paint it, repair it, fix the fucking holes. Maybe buy some new furniture. We can make it new or whatever it is that you want to do.”

“What about my siblings?”

“What about them?”

“Well they’ll live here--”

“Yeah, for a little while. You think Carl’s going to stay here forever? Liam’s fucking not. Debbie’s not. They’ll leave eventually and - I don’t know. Their rooms could be our…” Mickey cleared his throat and Ian smiled as the word ‘kids’ hung awkwardly in the room.

He moved his hand off Mickey’s leg and squeezed his hand. The gesture rewarded him with Mickey reaching over and tugging him in for a kiss. It was sweet and filled with a warmth that Ian had missed all day.

Breaking away, he searched Mickey’s face and melted a little bit when he saw how Mickey’s features had softened. The way his eyes looked even brighter in the dusky lighting of their room. How his cheekbones were a rosy color and his fingertips involuntarily came up to brush against his lips.

Maybe he’d been going about this all the wrong way.

Maybe he was so focused on what they were supposed to do, he missed what they could do.

“What about all the bad memories here?”

Mickey rested a hand on Ian’s cheek. “We’ll make new ones. Better ones.”

Ian smiled softly and leaned forward to meet Mickey halfway for another kiss. He cradled his head and pulled him a little closer, eager to feel his warmth. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of kissing Mickey, not when it was this intoxicating. It was like finding $100 in his pocket or reading his favorite parts of his favorite book. Or when he finally got to slide into Mickey after too much time apart. It was familiar - safe. 

_Fucking love._

“And we’ll still get to cross off your goals or whatever it is you’ve been bitching about cause we’re doing it together,” Mickey said in that soft tone he only used with Ian.

It took Ian a few minutes to realize what he’d said. His brain was still a little foggy from their shared kisses.

“Is Mickey Milkovich actually considering making goals and not just living in the moment?”

Mickey pulled away and made a big display of rolling his eyes, but the curve of his lips gave away the happiness he was feeling.

“I think you mean _Mr. Gallagher_ is being forced into making goals by his _nerdy_ soft motherfucking husband.”

Ian laughed and pulled him down to meet his lips again. This time he was intent on communicating in other ways besides words. But the way Mickey gently pushed him away, left Ian confused as to why his husband didn’t want to take this to the next level. 

Mickey smirked down at Ian as if he could sense his frustration. Giving him a quick peck on the lips, he got up and grabbed the legal notepad where Ian had discarded it.

“Alright, so let’s see...we should fix up that hole in the wall,” Mickey began to write down in his chicken scratch.

_Was Mickey excited about this?_

Ian thought he was when he caught a gleam in his eye.

He bit his lip to hold back his smile when his husband caught him watching him. Ian couldn’t tamper down his grin though when he noticed Mickey waiting on him to suggest another item to write down on their list. 

“We need new furniture.”

“We should get a new bed.”

“Paint our room.”

“Maybe we’ll start on our room first?”

Ian grinned and nodded, “I like that idea.”

Mickey ducked his head, but Ian could see the upward curve of his lips. “Me too.”

They continued to compile their list of things to fix around the house. As it got longer and longer, instead of feeling overwhelmed or hopeless at all the stuff they needed to get done, the familiar stirrings of excitement and hope burrowed itself into Ian’s chest. 

It was something he hadn’t experienced for a long time. Sure, he was happy when he got married to Mickey and when they started this new chapter of their life. But it was nice working toward something they could be proud of. Something they could call their own.

They might not be going apartment hunting together to find a new place, but this was going to be better. Ian could feel it with the way Mickey was getting more and more excited writing each item on their Fix The Fucking House list. 

They had this opportunity to create something beautiful out of a house that was a little broken down, in worse shape, and had seen better days. It wasn’t the perfect place to live, but there was potential there.

He could see it.

Ian could relate.

And he knew with the way Mickey was sitting hunched over their list and grinning manically as he wrote ‘better fucking water pressure for longer showers,’ he also could see the connection. 

(And if he was being honest, he had always seen the connection way before Ian.)

This was a house that had seen them through a lot of the bad times. Now, they’d be able to create some good ones. 

This house would be where they’d raise their kids, get a dog or a cat, and throw wild parties. A house where they celebrated holidays, hosted sleepovers, and spent wild, hot summers playing in the pool in the backyard. 

A house that would be theirs. 

It was funny, Ian realized. He’d moved into this house when he was about 12 when Frank had finagled their way into living with Aunt Ginger. It had looked so different when he was a kid. There were no curtains in the kitchen. The downstairs bathroom never worked and all the furniture in the living room smelled like cat pee even though she didn’t have cats. 

Now, the furniture was a little better, the TV a little bigger, and all of the bathrooms worked, mostly. Thanks to Fiona, she’d made the house a home. But it was a house that had always been a work in progress. Now it was his turn to continue to fix it up with his husband. Make it better than just any old home - make it _their_ home. 

A place where they’d always feel safe and warm, and _loved_.

_It was strange how things worked out._

Looking over at Mickey as his eyes gleamed in excitement at the list of work they needed to do on and around the house, Ian realized they started off in a much different place than where they’d ended up. But the thing was it didn’t matter much where they started, it just mattered where they ended. And their end was always going to be with each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like drop a comment or a kudo, please do. 
> 
> The last one shot will be up before the end of the year. (I'm shooting before Christmas) Also, if you're missing holiday action in this series, I did write a post season 10 Christmas holiday baking fic called The Great South Side Bake Off. It's not part of the series, but it is super fluffy and domestic.


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